


The Mufasa of Crime

by redtribution



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Gen, cameos by Sam and Dean Winchester in chapter one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-02 03:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4044091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtribution/pseuds/redtribution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reddington has been turned into a cat, and Liz is put in the difficult situation of being the only one able to communicate telepathically with the catified concierge of crime. Beware the crackfest. This is a story about Raymond Reddington being turned into a fucking cat, just to reiterate in case you didn't believe me the first time. Kudos to my followers on tumblr for convincing me to write this ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A brief explanation of the fact that Reddington is now a furball

A knock sounded at the door of Liz’s crappy motel room. Liz glanced at the screen of her phone, which she had set down beside her plate of crappy pasta so that she could enjoy her crappy solitary dinner with the added stimulation of her phone. The screen showed 7:16 as the time. Wondering who could possibly have any business with her at seven o’clock on a Sunday night, Liz rose and strode to the door, straightening her oversized pajama shirt as she went.

The door opened to reveal two very large men, the taller of which was holding a gray, long-haired tabby cat. Just as Liz was about to open her mouth in attempt to say something, a voice inexplicably began speaking in her head.

_“Lizzie! Thank God. These two men seem to be under the impression that I am a mass murderer who should be disposed of. Would you please take the liberty of explaining to them that I am, in fact, working with the FBI?”_

Liz stumbled back, flabbergasted. “What the—” she began.

The taller man, the man holding the cat, took a step over the threshold. He was simply massive, with an enormous frame and hair that fell to his shoulders, Jesus-like. Holding out the hand not engaged in cat-carrying in an attempt to placate her, he said “Miss Keen? My name is Sam Winchester. May I come in?”

“What—” Liz began.

“We’ll explain everything if you just let us come in,” the shorter man said. His tone was gruff. He stood beyond the threshold of the door, examining her with a look of ease. His chiseled jaw was speckled with short stubble, and his legs bowed out comically. He looked attractive but possibly dangerous. She glanced in the direction of the larger man, who exuded a much kinder air.

“We promise, we just want to talk,” he assured her.

 _“Yes, let them come in, Lizzie.”_ That voice—which sounded enormously like Reddington’s—in her head said.

Liz shook her head, as if to clear it. “Alright,” she finally agreed, straightening up to her full height and folding her arms over her chest. “Whatever this is about, you two had better have a good explanation. I warn you, I’m a federal agent.”

The shorter one snorted. “Yeah, so are we.”

“Shut up Dean!” Sam hissed.

The shorter one—Dean, apparently—rolled his eyes but stepped across the threshold nevertheless. He swung the door shut behind him with one hand. It clicked as the latch slid into place.

“Can we sit?” Sam asked, gesturing to the tiny table in the kitchen section of the motel room. Liz shrugged, and Sam took that as acquiescence. Wary, Liz followed the man to the table, taking a seat across from him. Dean leaned against the door, observing the conversation from afar.

Sam placed a palm flat on the table in front of Liz. She met his eye, revealing nothing of the panic that reeled through her head at the development of this frightening voice in her head.

“Like I said, my name is Sam Winchester, and this is my brother, Dean.”

Dean smiled cheekily and raised a hand.

“We came to talk to you about—well, about this cat.”

The cat, which had been sitting on Sam’s lap, leapt down and sauntered over to Liz, rubbing up against her legs and purring.

_“I’ve missed you, Lizzie.”_

Liz looked up at Sam in alarm. A suspicion was forming in her mind, but…no, that was ridiculous. It couldn’t be.

“The cat, as I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Sam continued, “Isn’t a cat. It’s,” He smiled an awkward smile, “A man by the name of Raymond Reddington.”

Liz’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Thanks for the visit,” she said, standing up. The cat stumbled away from her legs, meowing in alarm. “But if Reddington put you up to this, the joke’s over. You can take your cat and leave.”

“Just listen. Give us the benefit of the doubt and listen. If you still don’t believe us, we’ll leave you alone.” Sam insisted.

A tense pause. “Alright, talk,” ordered Liz, opting not to take her seat again.

“Okay. Here’s the deal,” Sam started up again, speaking rapidly. “Apparently your friend Reddington—”

 _“That’s Mr. Reddington to you, you lumberjack,”_ Reddington’s voice interjected in Liz’s head. Sam appeared not to have heard.

“—came into contact with a witch who turned him into a cat at his own request. He said something about it being good for his cover. The only way we’ve been able to communicate with him is through scrabble tiles, but he said that the witch created a telepathic link between you and him, so that you can communicate. I’m assuming he’s been talking to you since we got here?”

Liz, teetering on the line between disbelief and belief, nodded hesitantly.

“Here’s the thing: the witch has disappeared. It was supposed to be a spell that would allow him to transform at will, or at least that’s what we think. Communication with him has been spotty.”

“Dude has a knack for monologues, which makes communicating with scrabble tiles hard,” Dean interjected.

“We showed up and interrupted the ritual, and the witch disappeared, leaving Reddington in cat form.”

“Right,” Liz deadpanned.

Sam leaned back, gathering that she didn’t believe him. “Alright,” he said. “Reddington, do you care to explain?”

Liz looked down at the cat, which leapt up on the table and fixed her with an intense look, squinting its eyes and tilting its head ever so slightly.

_“He’s telling the truth, Lizzie. I thought watching this “witch” work would be a fascinating experience, as this woman clearly believed her own lies. I suspect it would have worked—I would have been able to transform at will—if these two gun-toting buffoons hadn’t burst in and ruined it. Do you know they made me sit in the backseat all the way here? Not to mention their music choices—truly horrific, Lizzie. I’ll be having nightmares for weeks.”_

Liz examined the cat, whose whiskers were trembling slightly.

“How do I know it’s actually you?” Liz asked, surprised to hear the words issuing from her own mouth.

The cat’s lip twitched, the ghost of a human smile. _“Your full name is Elizabeth Scott Keen. You work at a black site called the post office. You’ve been hired specifically because of my insistence that I speak with you and you alone. Your colleagues are Samar Navabi, Donald Ressler and Aram Mojtabai, and all of you work under one Harold Cooper. Your ex-husband’s name is Jacob Phelps, alias Tom Keen. The night you discovered his treachery, it was my arms you came running to—“_

“Alright, I believe you,” Liz cut Reddington off. She met Sam’s eye. “What do we do now, then?”

 “That’s the thing,” Sam replied. “This guy told us—with the scrabble tiles, remember—that he’s number four on the FBI’s most wanted list, and that he’s a guilty criminal. At that point, we weren’t sure if we should try to help him at all—”

Dean interrupted. “I wanted to bash his brains in right then and there, do a public service. But he asked us to take him to you and let you do some explaining, and Sammy was a sucker—”

“For the last time Dean,” Sam cut across him. “This is a man’s _life_ we’re talking about.”

“A _cat’s_ life, Sam. A _cat._ How many times do I have to—?”

“I hate to interrupt,” Liz cut in, “but Reddington was telling the truth. He is number four on the FBI’s most wanted list, and he is a criminal. However, I can’t allow you to kill him, for classified reasons.” Liz retrieved her purse from where she had dropped it under the table earlier that night, extracting her badge from it. Flipping it open, she offered it to Sam, who examined it.

“I think this is the real thing,” Sam said, raising it in Dean’s direction.

“Probably is. You seem like a fed,” Dean said to Liz.

 “Right,” she said, turning back to Sam. “Where do we go from here?” She asked.

It was Dean who answered. “Sam and I will go looking for the witch bitch. In the meantime, we need you to keep track of him. He’s been exhibiting some human behaviors and some cat habits, so he needs someone to watch him close. Make sure he doesn’t get run over by a car or try to fight a Rottweiler, you know.” Dean focused on his brother. “Sammy, wanna grab the cat crap out of baby?”

Sam stood, and Dean tossed him a set of car keys. Liz assumed that “baby” must be a vehicle. _Men._

“We picked him up some supplies,” Sam explained on his way to the door. “He was…complaining.”

_“Don’t listen to him, Lizzie. The stubbly testosterone-fuelled one wouldn’t let me have a bite of his burger, and I retaliated in kind. They picked me up some cat food because they thought it might placate me, but now that I’m here, I assure you that will not be the case.”_

Liz rounded on Reddington, who was still seated on the table, his tail flicking back and forth in his self-satisfied way.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of you!” She exclaimed. “This is a ridiculous situation to land yourself in. What the hell, Reddington?”

Reddington’s ears flicked. _“You’ve just contradicted yourself by stating that you didn’t want to hear another word out of me, then asking me a question. Sam was a good father in many ways, but I’m afraid he neglected to teach you about contradictory statements. Let me do so now—”_

“Leave my father out of this!”

Dean snickered from the corner by the door, and Liz shot him a glare, which he didn’t quail under to her chagrin. At that moment, Sam bustled through the door laden with a litter box complete with lid and litter, a bag of cat food and a few fake mice. Liz raised an eyebrow at him as he set them on the ground in the middle of the room.

“Why the fake mice?”

Sam glanced at Red. “He was…antsy.”

Reddington rolled his cat eyes. _“If anyone was antsy, it was his brother. Kept yelling at me for tearing up his leather seats. I tell you, Lizzie, I’ve been in good cars in my time, and that Impala his brother drives is not a good car. I mean, the gas mileage for one—”_

“Thank you for dropping him off, then.” Liz cut him off, directing her remark to Sam. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

Sam shrugged and glanced at Dean. “Can you think of anything?” He asked.

Dean grimaced and shook his head. “Nah. We’ll call you when we track the witch bitch down.”

“I asked you not to call her that, Dean.”

“C’mon Sammy, don’t you be a bitch, too.”

“You’ll need my number,” Liz interjected, crossing to her bedside table and writing her number down on a piece of motel stationary. Tearing it off the pad, she handed it to Sam, who was involved in a glaring contest with his brother. “I move around a lot,” she informed him.

Sam looked back and her and nodded. “That’s fine. We’ll call you when we know anything.”

“How long will that be?”

Sam shrugged again. “Could be a day, could be two years.”

“We’ve got a lot on our plates,” Dean said, and Sam chuckled.

“He’s not wrong. Well,” Sam held out a hand to Liz, “It was nice to meet you, Miss Keen.”

Reddington hissed. _“He’s flirting with you, Lizzie. Not that I object to you dating men who aren’t psychopaths, but I assure you he’s no good for you. He has a guilt complex and with good reason, from the conversation I overheard.”_

Liz ignored him. “I really appreciate this. I would ask you who you are and what you do, but…” Liz smiled wryly. “I don’t think I want to know.”

Sam nodded. “That’s probably best.”

Dean opened the door, and Sam made his way to it, passing his brother on the way out. Dean waved in Liz’s direction.

“Take care, Keen.” He said. Without a further word, the Winchesters left, leaving Liz alone with Reddington.

Liz kept her back to Reddington, continuing to stare at the door through which the two men had just exited. This development was taking a moment to sink in, but Liz felt a storm brewing inside of her.

_“What is it, Lizzie? Did you find them attractive? I would consider the smaller one, if I were you. He seems ridiculous but I have a feeling he’s actually very sweet. He has this angel friend that we met up with who seems to really like him—”_

“Shut _up_ Reddington.”

Liz crossed to where Sam had set the litter box and cat food and began arranging them around the room. The litter box she set against the wall across from the bed and adjacent to the door. She left the food on top of it, but went to the kitchen and retrieved a few dusty bowls from the cupboard. She rinsed one and filled it with water, then placed them on the floor and filled the other with dry food pellets.

Reddington meowed to get her attention. Liz ignored him.

_“Lizzie, I understand that you’re angry. I can see how my actions may seem—Lizzie, I already told you I don’t like the pellet food. It’s disgusting and—”_

“Oh my GOD Reddington! Shut up! What the hell is wrong with you?” Liz rounded on Reddington, shouting, not caring if the neighbors heard.

Reddington flattened his ears. _“This reaction seems extreme, Lizzie. I understand this is disorienting for you, but I assure you we can still do business—”_

“Business? _Business?_ And how exactly do you plan to convince the task force that you’re Reddington? You _barely_ have me convinced, and I can hear you in my head!” Liz gestured wildly as she spoke. Reddington’s eyes followed her hands, tail flicking back and forth. “I’m upset because my characterization states that shifts in environment are hugely upsetting to me, also because your transformation doesn’t fit with the mythology of the show—Reddington!” She dropped her hands, cottoning on to the fact that he was distracted by their movement.

_“Huh? Oh, I apologize, Lizzie. I assure you that what you are saying is important to me; it’s just that I seem to be getting distracted more easily—”_

Just then, one of the toy mice fell off of the top of the litter box. Reddington’s blue-eyed gaze snapped to the toy, and he leapt off the table in a tangle of limbs, pouncing on the ball of fake fur.

 _“Ahaha, die bitch! I am Mufasa, this is the circle of life and I_ demand _that you fear me. Ah, it’s alive, Lizzie!”_

Liz stared in disbelief. “No it isn’t.” She stated blankly. “You moved your hand—I mean, your paw and it moved too—”

 _“God dammit Lizzie, please respect my hunter’s instincts. Ah!”_ Reddington arched his back, _“You see, you see, it’s moving!”_ As Reddington moved his paws, the mouse tumbled away from him. He pounced once more, biting down with a vengeance.

 _“Got you. I am the concierge of crime, and such a dull animal as a mouse will ultimately fail to prevail against me. You know, this reminds me of that one time I blew a bunch of holes in Berlins’ chest. Not such high stakes this time, perhaps, but most definitely the same satisfaction is garnered from this kill as I received then—”_ Reddington continued to bite at the toy throughout his monologue. _“Despite the difference in size and ability. This mouse has proven to be a formidable opponent, coming back to life when I thought it dead, rather like your ex-husband.”_

“It’s a fake mouse, Reddington.” Liz said. She found that her mouth was open and her arms were crossed, though she didn’t remember consciously arranging them that way.

Reddington raised his head toward her, lowering his lids in a clearly sarcastic expression. _“I’m sorry, Lizzie. Which one of us has scent glands in our throat? That’s right. I think I’d know if this wasn’t a real—My God it’s alive again!”_

Liz looked into the camera like she was on The Office. “I’m going to take a shower and drink alcohol until I feel better,” she announced.

_“I will puncture your internal organs with my deadly fangs, mouse. Then, once I have bested you, I will not eat you, but rather leave you on Lizzie’s pillow as a token of my gratitude toward her. What a magnificent display of affection. Ten points to Reddington.”_


	2. They explain the situation to Ressler and Reddington is annoying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't even edit this or read through it before posting it. You have been warned.

_“Lizzie? Lizzie, get up. Lizzie, I’m not eating this.”_

Liz lay on her back in the hotel room’s bed, staring at the ceiling. Inside her head, Reddington’s stupid cat voice was relentless. Though it “sounded” similar to his voice in human form, his tone had taken on a short quality that hadn’t been present when he was human.

_“Truly disgusting stuff, Lizzie. I’m telling you, if you just call Dembe, he can bring by some Salmon and we’ll make a nice breakfast out of it.”_

Liz sighed, long and loud. Reddington’s persistent pleas for better food, accommodations and entertainment had managed to enter her dreams last night, and they were what had woken her at six a.m., before her alarm clock had had the chance to ring. She had gotten up and ready, eaten a breakfast of cereal, then given up and laid back down again when Reddington’s complaining reached an all-time level of annoying. Despite the fact that she knew Cooper wouldn’t be happy, she was seriously considering taking the day off work.

“You’re not supposed to feed cats fish, Reddington.” Liz said dully, never removing her eyes from the ceiling.

_“Not supposed to feed cats fish, Lizzie? Ludicrous. I don’t remember you majoring in Veterinary Science.”_

“It’s true. I read cats can get allergic reactions to fish or even get addicted to it.” Liz said. “I’m not buying you fish. Chicken, we can talk about.”

Reddington grumbled low in his throat. Liz felt the bed give slightly as he jumped up onto it, poising himself just below her feet.

_“Come now, Lizzie. Don’t look so glum. I apologize for my nagging. Please forgive me. Do you forgive me, Lizzie?”_

Liz didn’t reply, but instead resituated her head on her pillow, reaching back to fluff it.

 _“Oh, Lizzie, I’m sorry. Truly I am. Lizzie. Lizzie. Lizziiiieeeee.”_ Reddington meowed, long and sad. Liz continued to ignore him.

Liz felt warm breath on her bare toes, followed by a wet tickling sensation. Letting out an embarrassing _squeak_ of alarm, Liz sat straight up. Reddington was crouched by her feet, licking her toes. It tickled like hell.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Liz exclaimed, drawing her feet back a few inches. Reddington pursued them and resumed licking her wiggling toes.

_“I’m sorry. Do you believe me now?”_

Liz giggled as his tongue swiped across the pad of her big toe. “That’s really weird, Reddington,” she complained. “And it tickles.”

 _“Hey, I don’t make the rules,”_ Reddington said, abandoning the task of cleaning Liz’s feet at last. With an audible sigh, the long-haired tabby jumped onto Liz’s lap. Resigned, Liz scooted back, leaned against the headboard and began scratching behind Reddington’s ears.

 _“Lizzie, there’s really no need for you to—aaah.”_ Reddington cut himself off as he began purring. The head scratches were apparently to his liking. _“Under the chin, if you would please.”_ Liz rolled her eyes but complied.

“Alright,” she began, continuing Reddington’s pampering. “So, what are we going to do about work today? You obviously can’t come on site, but I’m assuming you’ll still be able to tell me who our next target is?”

Reddington looked up at her and blinked slowly, but didn’t reply. Concerned, Liz stopped scratching. “Reddington?” she pressed.

_“What? Were you saying something? I wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.”_

“God, Reddington, try to focus alright?”

 _“I don’t appreciate your tone—HOLD STILL.”_ Reddington suddenly sat up straight and went rigid, his blue eyes fixed on Liz’s shoulder _. “THERE IS A FOREIGN ENTITY ON YOUR SHOULDER. DON’T MOVE. I WILL CONTAIN THE SITUATION.”_

Liz furrowed her brow and tilted her head slightly to glance at her shoulder. She caught a brief glimpse of a strand of her own hair before Reddington leapt into action.

 _“The fucker moved!”_ He yowled and pounced on Liz’s shoulder, capturing the strand of hair between his paws. Liz gasped in pain as his claws sank through her pajama t-shirt and into the soft flesh of her shoulder. She grabbed him and wrenched him off of her, tossing him a few feet across the bed with a cry of pain. He howled as he flew through the air until he fell onto the motel comforter. He rolled over and stood up immediately, eyes wide, tail in the air, back arched in alarm.

_“I don’t recall telling you to throw me. In fact, I specifically told you to stay VERY STILL. Or does your personal safety really mean that little to you? It could be anywhere now. I don’t see it.”_

Liz fisted her hands in her hair, groaning in frustration. “Reddington,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “That was a piece of my _hair_ you paranoid panther. There was no ‘foreign entity’.”

Reddington took a seat on the bed, calming down considerably. His tail flicked back and forth behind him. His face took on a pitying expression. _“You’re being irrational, but I understand. It’s natural to be irrational when you’re afraid. Can I have Salmon?”_

Liz stared at him in disbelief. It was then that her phone rang, giving her a brief respite from the Reddington problem. She picked it up from her nightstand to see Ressler’s name illuminated on the screen. She glanced over at Reddington.

“Not a word,” she ordered.

Reddington cocked his head to the side. _“You realize that in this form I’m completely incapable of speaking anything resuming human speech, never mind an English dialect—”_

“Keen,” Liz answered the phone.

“Hey,” Ressler began without preamble, “I want to go over our last two case files before Cooper gets there this morning. I think the cases might be connected, but I can’t figure out how. Can you make it in early today?”

Liz fiddled with the hem of her t-shirt in anxiety. “Um, I really wish I could but I’m—sick.” She decided.

There was a brief silence. “Keen, what’s going on?” Ressler asked sternly, not fooled by her feigned casualness.

“What? Nothing. I told you: I’m sick.”

Ressler let out a huff, which rattled over the line. Liz imagined him rolling his eyes, though she couldn’t see him.  “Is it Reddington?” He asked.

“Yes—well…not exactly. Everything’s fine. I’ll let Cooper know I can’t come in today. Something’s come up. Just look over those cases without me—”

At that moment, Liz heard a crash from the bathroom, followed by a yowl of fright and the scrabbling of claws. Liz bolted upright, leaning forward in an attempt to get a good look at the potential disaster.

“Keen? Keen, what was that?”

“What was—nothing. Listen, I’ll see you tomorrow!” Without a further word, Liz hung the phone up and raced into the bathroom. The white tile-patterned linoleum was cold against her feet. Liz glanced first at the sink and mirror, then at the tub, where Reddington’s mishap began to take shape at once.

Reddington stood at the drain end of the tub, back arched, every hair on edge. At the other end was a bottle of Conditioner that Liz toted around with her from motel to motel. (Motels always provided shampoo, but conditioners were few and far between.) The bottle of conditioner was knocked on its side, slowly inching its way down the slick, slanted bathtub floor toward Reddington, who flinched every time it moved an inch.

 _“It fell, Lizzie.”_ He said keeping his eyes trained on the bottle of conditioner.

“You mean you knocked it over, I think.” Liz rolled her eyes. She strode to the conditioner and righted it on the bathtub’s built-in shelf. “See? Nothing to be afraid of.”

Reddington at last turned his big blue eyes to Liz and leapt out of the tub, rubbing his slightly wet self around her bare ankles and purring.

 _“Good. Are you going to get me Salmon now?”_ He asked.

Liz sighed. It was clear that Reddington would be of no use until she got him new food and something to occupy his time—preferably something other than pestering her and upsetting the hotel room. “Yes,” Liz lied. “I’m going to get you Salmon now. But if I come back and the room is torn up, you won’t get any.” She decided.

_“Ah, bargaining, are we Elizabeth? Very well, I accept your challenge. You see? I’m not above negotiating.”_

“Right.”

…

An hour later, Liz pulled up in front of the motel with her newly purchased cat scratcher, several new toys and a package of chicken thighs. She was leaning over to gather up her bags from the passenger’s seat when a knock on the driver’s side window startled her. She jerked her head around to see Ressler’s freckled face observing her with a stern expression.

“Open up, Keen,” he said, his voice muffled by the glass. Rolling her eyes, Liz rolled her window down, keeping eye contact with the nosy FBI agent.

“Thanks,” he said, glancing at their surroundings despite the fact that there was no sort of danger. Liz had noticed that taking stock of the situation was his unconscious habit. “Now, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Liz shook her head, reaching over to gather up her shopping bags once more. “I already told you nothing’s wrong.”

“No, you said you’re sick,” Ressler pointed out, “which is clearly not the case.”

Pulling her key from the ignition Liz opened the driver’s-side door, not caring when it knocked into Ressler. He stumbled back, but didn’t comment on the little violence, clearly attempting to keep Liz from changing the subject. Liz kept her head down, though it was less about ignoring Ressler and more about keeping her focus on the shopping bags hanging from her arms. When she had successfully removed all the bags from the car, she shut the door behind her, the bag of chicken thighs swinging as the door slammed shut. Ressler started forward and attempted to relieve her of the bags. Wary of him seeing inside the motel, she refused.

At last, she responded to his comment. “I have…a fever.”

Ressler put a hand to her head, which she ducked away from too late.

“You don’t feel hot.” Ressler said flatly, raising a strawberry-blond eyebrow. He put his hands on his hips.

Liz sighed dramatically. “Alright. Just…promise you won’t tell anyone.” She looked him in the eye, a tragic expression on her face. “I have…gout.”

Ressler’s other eyebrow went up. “Seriously? Keen, you’re a thirty-two year old woman. No you don’t.”

“You sexist fuck, yes I do. Have some respect, I’m dying.”

“You realize that gout isn’t fatal, right?”

Liz grimaced. “It’s a…new strain. It’s called _goutis fatalisis.”_

“There’s no such thing as a strain of gout.”

“My God Ressler. Your bedside manner is worse than Aram’s, and that’s saying something. Last time I was in the hospital he wrote ‘glad you didn’t die because then I would’ve had no one to get me into morally ambiguous situations and expect me to comply quietly’ on my card. How inconsiderate.” Liz shouldered past Ressler and made her way toward her motel room. She didn’t have to explain herself to him. If she could somehow get inside without Ressler catching sight of Reddington, she’d be able to ignore him until he went away.

Ressler tagged along behind her, unable to walk next to her due to her shopping bags. Liz was at her room door within a few steps, and she fumbled to fit her key in the lock as Ressler watched her struggle.

“Keen, listen to me. You’re my partner; you can tell me what’s wrong. I heard you on the phone, you sounded distracted. What’s going on with you?”

Liz managed to get the lock undone at last and sighed with relief. She met Ressler’s eye at last.

“Nothing’s wrong with me, Ressler. I’m on my period and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, which is why I didn’t tell you. But yes, I’m on my period and the discomfort was probably what you heard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take ibuprofen and eat chocolate and cry about small animals.” With that, Liz turned the knob of the motel door and swung it open.

There was the sound of meowing, and Liz felt the brush of fur against her legs. Whipping her head around, she saw Reddington streaking across the parking lot, tail in the air.

_“FREEDOOOOM!”_

“Keen? I didn’t know you—”

“Catch that cat!” Liz shouted, dropping her shopping bags and rocketing off after Reddington, who had disappeared behind the motel lobby. Liz ran clumsily in her sandals and sweats as she pursued him, knowing full well that Reddington, as a cat, was much faster than she herself could ever hope to be. Behind her she heard Ressler’s bemused “what the—?” followed by a gruff sigh and the sound of dress shoes against the pavement as he took off to follow her.

Liz sprinted past the motel lobby’s double doors and ran around the side of the building. The motel was arranged in an L-shape, with the Lobby attached to the long end and Liz’s room at the short end. Around this side of the Lobby, there was nothing but empty parking spaces and lots and lots of trash.

…Which, unfortunately, Reddington appeared to adore. A wooden fence ran from the back of the lobby and out to the end of the parking lot. Against said fence and at the junction where fence and lobby met sat a blue dumpster overflowing with fat black trash bags. The stink radiated, causing Liz to wrinkle her nose in disgust. In the center of the dumpster, Liz could see Reddington’s fluffy gray tail swishing back and forth, though the rest of him was obscured in garbage.

“Keen!” Ressler said, clomping up behind her like a freaking racehorse. “Did you find—?”

 _“Shhh!”_ Liz admonished, gesturing emphatically toward the dumpster. “Don’t scare him off.” Ressler squinted into the shadowy dumpster and nodded when he caught sight of Reddington—though, of course, Ressler wasn’t aware that it was anything more than a regular tomcat. Together they began approaching slowly, watching that delighted tail flicking back and forth.

“Boost me up,” Liz whispered to Ressler. Grimacing, he got down on one knee, and Liz stepped her sandaled foot on his pressed slacks, hoisting herself up among the black trash bags. She spied the rest of Reddington at once. He had his back to her and was sniffing through a garbage bag that he had apparently torn open. As Liz began to inch closer to him among the garbage bags, he heard her approach and turned.

_“Ah, Lizzie, lovely to see you. Here, come and look at this bloody tampon I found—”_

Liz lunged, scooping Reddington up in her arms. The cat yowled and twisted, but her grip was firm. All at once, Liz realized she was slipping from atop mount trash pile, and with her arms engaged in containing an angry cat, she had no way to break her fall.

“Catch me!” She shouted in terror to Ressler. Then, she fell. Or at least she assumed she did. In that moment, she saw her life flash before her eyes. She watched herself grow from a child and mature into an adult; watched her entire career unfold before her. As she slipped from the trash pile, she closed her eyes reverently. “Man was I a bitch,” she whispered.

When she opened her eyes, she was still holding a shell-shocked cat, and Ressler had done a really crappy job at catching her. Her tailbone ached, and Ressler lay flat underneath her back. Liz got to her feet, struggling to contain Reddington.

 _“I’m completely incensed! You have no respect for the very important work that I do. I was attempting to show you my discovery and you_ grab _me like some common throw pillow. This is not to be borne. I, Raymond Reddington, I, the Concierge of Crime, snatched from my explorations? Unhand me, Lizzie! You know I adore you, but today you’re being truly—”_

Reddington’s monologue continued, but Liz attempted to drown out the ranting in her head so that she could focus on Ressler. He was sprawled at her feet, massaging his head with a screwed-up expression on his face. “Thanks for catching me,” she said sarcastically.

“I might have a concussion,” Ressler said, struggling to sit up and putting his head in between his legs.

“Okay, go to the hospital.” Liz suggested. “I’m taking him back to my room.” She said, hoisting Reddington in gesture, despite the fact that Ressler had his head in between his legs.

“Never mind,” Ressler said, springing to his feet. “I don’t have a concussion. If I go to the hospital now this whole chapter is going to deviate from where it was supposed to go, so I’m actually fine. I mean, the author could go back and delete that little detail but she’s too lazy, so instead I’m breaking the fourth wall.”

“That’s the style nowadays,” Liz agreed. Without looking back, Liz tightened her grip on Reddington and jogged back to her motel room, followed by the concussion-less Ressler.

Ressler gathered up Liz’s shopping bags for her and insisted on following her inside, much to Liz’s chagrin. As he shut the door behind them, Liz released Reddington onto the bed. He sprawled out but quickly recovered. Casting Liz an annoyed glare, he situated himself on the comforter and began cleaning himself, his pink tongue working its way through the strands of long gray fur covering his entire body.

Liz shook her head but allowed him to continue, turning instead to Ressler.

“Thanks for your help,” she said. “You can go now.”

Ressler was looking at her with a slightly disgusted look on his face. His pink lips were really pink. His eyes were green like the sea. The sea isn’t green. Well, they were really super green, and it was great because his freckles and hair were kind of orangey and green and orange are complimentary colors. I forgot what we were talking about.

“I can’t believe you, Liz,” Ressler said, shaking his head. “You’re taking time off work because you adopted a cat? That’s very unprofessional of you, not to mention dishonest. You said you were sick.”

 _“Oh, I can’t wait to see how this plays out. Tell me, how do you plan on explaining this?”_ Reddington inserted. Liz wished he wouldn’t. It was extremely difficult to form sentences with a separate train of thought running through her mind.

Liz ran pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. She was forming a headache and it was barely eight thirty in the morning, though that may have had something to do with the amount of alcohol she had consumed the previous night.

“Ressler, listen,” Liz said, dropping her hand to her side, shoulders slumping. “I can’t convince you that my reasons for staying home are good ones, just _please_ go.”

Ressler furrowed his brow. “Liz, I don’t want to put you in a tough place, but I’m going to have to report this to Cooper. Without you, this taskforce grinds to a halt. Who’s going to talk to Reddington?” He looked truly sorry, but Liz could see there was no moving him. She made a snap decision.

“You were right,” she admitted, backing up to sit on the bed next to Red. “Something is wrong, and it has to do with Reddington and this cat, but I can’t explain it now. Can you trust me on that?”

Ressler looked more confused than ever. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, mussing it. “I don’t know, Keen. Can you just give me something to go off of? Anything?”

Liz opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Reddington’s train of thought.

_“You need to explain the situation to him. We can’t keep this up, and you can’t stay home forever. I need to be able to move freely and conduct my business as well as aid the FBI, and the only way for me to do that is if I can have you with me. I love Dembe, but I don’t have a telepathic connection with him. In any case, I think we both know that keeping secrets from FBI agents is a difficult feat, and pretty soon they would begin to catch on that you’re not speaking to the real me—hang on. There’s a piece of cheese stuck in my fur. Okay, got it. Ew, it’s hard. And I’m no longer sure it’s cheese. You need to explain that I’m a cat to the entire taskforce.”_

“Are you kidding me? You’re a fucking cat, Reddington!” Liz realized too late that she had spoken with Ressler in the room. Her gaze snapped up to meet his, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Ressler’s eyebrows were gone. He had raised them so high that they no longer existed. “What did you just say, Keen?”

Liz stood up in an attempt to buy herself some time. Unfortunately it doesn’t take very long to stand up, unless you’re an old person or super lazy. Or sick. No offense met to our sick friends out there.

“Uhm, I said…I said ‘you’re fucking a cat, Reddington?’ That’s why I’m staying home today. Reddington is practicing bestiality with this cat and—”

 _“Elizabeth Keen if you say one more word I will absolutely_ destroy _those horrible slacks you love. I won’t allow my reputation to be sullied just because I contacted a witch who turned me into a cat at my own request and you were too chicken to tell the truth about it. Speaking of chicken, can I have Salmon now?”_

Ressler shook his head, taking a step toward her. He dropped her shopping bags, leaving them sprawled on the floor.

“No, I heard you. You said Reddington’s a cat? Liz…”

Liz threw her hands up in the air. “Alright! Fine. Reddington contacted a witch who turned him into a cat and now he’s got a terrible attention span and he knocked over my conditioner and he won’t stop talking about Salmon which is annoying because we have a telepathic communication so that only I can hear him. Happy?”

“Liz…” Ressler took another step toward her. “Listen, I need you to come with me. We’re going to go visit that psychologist lady I yelled at that one time. Everything’s gonna be okay.” He placed a hand on her elbow.

Liz jerked her elbow out of his grasp, annoyed. “I’m not going to see a shrink! I _am_ a shrink. It’s the truth, I’ll show you. Reddington!” She turned to see Reddington observing her patiently from the bed. Vaguely, she wondered where this docility had been just hours ago when she had been trying to sleep.

_“Yes, Lizzie?”_

“I’m going to tell you to do a bunch of stuff so that Ressler can see you can understand me and you have a human mind and all, got it?” Reddington stared. Liz crossed her arms. “Reddington!”

_“Yes? I’m listening, Lizzie. Just waiting for a command. You know I can’t exactly reply vocally—”_

“Shut up.” He shut up. Yessss. “Now go get a tissue out of the tissue box. Great. Now wave it like a flag.”

Reddington glared, but swiveled his head back and forth so that the tissue waved.

“Excellent. Now use it to clean of Ressler’s shoes.”

 _“I’m not doing that.”_ He said, dropping the tissue. Liz sighed.

Ressler cleared his throat. “Doesn’t seem to be working.”

Liz fixed Reddington with an intense stare. _Do it._

 _“Oh, for God’s sake.”_ Reddington picked up the tissue and moseyed toward Ressler with the attitude of an embarrassed teenager. He swiped the tissue back and forth across Ressler’s dress shoes. He dropped the tissue and stalked away, tail in the air. Liz turned to Ressler, who was watching Red’s retreating rear end with confusion.

“Do you believe me now?” Liz asked.

Ressler sighed. “I don’t know, Keen. That was cool, but…you could have taught him those tricks. Or someone could have. I really think we should get you to that shrink.”

Liz shook her head. She crossed to her nightstand and picked up the pad of motel paper. Reddington watched her with fascination. She got down on the floor and offered the pad to him. “Reddington,” she said clearly, “I want you to carve a message in this paper for Ressler. Something only you would know to write.”

Reddington narrowed his eyes, and Liz could swear she saw the ghost of a smile on his face. _“As you wish, Lizzie.”_ Liz held the pad steady as Reddington began carving, savoring the look of amazement on Ressler’s face at the sight of the cat taking orders. The carving took a long time, but at last, Reddington announced,

_“Done.”_

Liz brought the pad of paper to Ressler and held it up so that he could see the faintly engraved message. Squinting (why does Ressler keep squinting? That’s the second time he’s squinted this chapter. Maybe he needs glasses.) Ressler read:

_Did you enjoy Mako Tanida’s head? Also u r smelly._

Ressler looked up at Liz, a solemn expression on his face. “I believe you,” he said stoically. “Now, we just have to convince everyone else.”

Liz smiled, happy to have someone sane at her side. She wrapped him in a hug, and the chapter ended.

_“Ah, Donald. What a pleasure to be working with you again. Do you see this litter box, Donald? You remind me of this litter box. Useful, but ugly and full of crap. Haha I said “but ugly.” That’s kind of like “Butt ugly.” Which you are. And full of crap. Don’t forget that par_


	3. Yep this is also a chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I mean, if you're this far in this story I think you know pretty much what to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't edit this one either. The amount of laziness in this chapter is truly horrific. I give so few fucks at this point that I can't even count them. It's like .08 fucks given.

“Where’s his cat carrier?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

“Um, okay. Let’s put him in a grocery bag.”

“Ressler are you nuts?”

“I don’t want him tearing up the seats in my truck!”

_“Lizzie I swear upon everything I hold dear: If you try to shove me in that plastic bag I will cut you.”_

Liz threw up her hands in despair. After discussing it, Ressler, Liz, and Reddington had determined that the best way to convince Cooper and the others of Reddington’s transformation was to bring him directly to the blacksite and have him attempt communication with all of them the same way he had with Ressler. Liz had already gotten on the phone and explained the situation to Dembe, who, it turned out, had been aware of Reddington’s scheme to transform previous to the actual transformation. He agreed to meet Ressler, Liz, and Red at the Post Office in order to back them up. The only trouble now was navigating communication between Ressler and Reddington. Though they were on the same team, they remained as disagreeable as ever.

Reddington sat on the bed, his ears flattened as he stared at the redheaded agent. Ressler himself was pretending not to notice Reddington, holding one of Liz’s empty grocery bags in one hand as he conversed with Liz.

Liz shook her head. “The two of you behave yourselves,” she insisted. “Ressler, we’re not putting Reddington in a plastic bag. You have clearly never owned a cat. Or held a cat. Or seen a cat. I’m going to go change into my work clothes, and when I come out of that bathroom I expect to see you both in one piece, understand?”

Reddington dipped his furry head. _“Yes, Lizzie.”_

Ressler scoffed. “I think I can hold my own against him,” he assured her, putting a hand on her elbow.

“Great, because I was really concerned about your safety. I’ll be back soon.”

Liz rifled around in her duffle bag for a moment before producing her work slacks, a gray tank top and a black blazer. Much fashion. So color. Wow. As she headed toward the bathroom, she took one last glance at Reddington and Ressler. The odd pair had fixed each other with hard looks. Liz raised her phone discreetly and snapped a picture of Ressler having a staring contest with a cat, for blackmail purposes.

Liz shut the bathroom door behind her and clicked the lock, dressing at top speed. She was nervous about leaving them alone together even for a second, and with good reason. As she was buttoning her pants, she heard a hissing noise.

“Liz,” Ressler complained, his voice muffled by the closed door. “He’s hissing at me.”

_“I’m only hissing because he’s looking at me funny! Oh wait, that’s just his face.”_

“I think you can handle it, Ressler.” Liz said, ignoring Reddington.

_“Is there a mirror behind me? Because you’re looking at me as though you’ve just caught a glimpse of your reflection.”_

“You know he can’t hear you.” Liz called to Reddington.

_“Oh, I think he understands. Yeah, we’re talking about you, butt chin.”_

Ressler growled in frustration. “Whatever you’re saying about me, stop it. I don’t like it when people talk about me behind my back.”

“Liz, he’s hissing at me again.”

Liz turned the bathroom door handle and stepped out, fully dressed, makeup done, because girls always have their makeup done in TV shows, even if they just got out of the shower or the swimming pool or have been living in the woods for three months. Except Parks and Recreation. When April’s sick in the hospital, she doesn’t have her makeup done. Props to Parks and Rec.

At her arrival, both Reddington and Ressler turned to her with furious looks on their faces.

“That’s enough,” Liz ordered sharply. “You’re both driving me insane. Now, Reddington: you’re going to quit hissing at Ressler, and when we get in his car you aren’t going to scratch at his seats, got it?”

Reddington had the good sense to look ashamed. _“Yes, Lizzie.”_

“Good. And Ressler,” she said, rounding on the burly FBI Agent. “He’s a fucking cat. You’re a two hundred pound man. Get your shit together.”

Ressler glanced at Reddington, who’s eyes were widened. _“Say you’re sorry, Donald. That look she’s giving you means death and no belly rubs if you don’t apologize.”_

Though Ressler couldn’t hear Reddington, he seemed to get the message. “Sorry, Liz,” he decided.

“That’s right, you should be. Now: let’s get out of here.” Liz reached down and scooped an unsuspecting Reddington up in her arms. He cooperated after the initial panic at being picked up and transported through thin air. Seeing that Liz was preparing to leave, Ressler took his keys out of his pocket and held the door open for Liz. Once Reddington had been placed in the car—with the affirmation of his oath to leave the seats in their present condition—and Liz had grabbed her purse, Ressler and she slid into the cab of the black pickup truck. Ressler turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

 _“What? Whaaaaat? WHAAAATATAT?”_  Reddington’s internal monologue burst through Liz’s mind, the shouting making her temples throb.

“Ah! Reddington, what’s wrong?” She shouted, twisting in her seat.

“What? What’s going on? Liz?” Ressler twisted in his seat too, but to stare at Liz, who’s hands were flattened over her ears. Liz ignored him for the moment, focusing her attention on Reddington.

Reddington had flattened himself to the back seat, his ears completely closed off. He looked absolutely mad, like that one picture of that crazy-looking cat the firefighter rescued from the burning house. You know the one; there was a tumblr post about it and the cat’s eyes and mouth are wide like he’s been possessed with the fiery demon spirit of Vladimir Putin and his fur looks like it’s never seen a brush and the caption says “YES, TWAS I WHO SET THE HOUSE ABLAZE!” Yeah. Well, he looked like that. Except flat.

 _“We have been compromised. I hear the roar of the ground splitting beneath us. In a few moment s we will fall into the dark, fiery chasm of hell where Lucifer and his hounds of hell wait to devour us. Is this truck fireproof?”_ Reddington said, his mental voice sounding low and prophetic.

“What are you talking about Reddington?” Liz asked.

_“Can you not hear the rumbling, Elizabeth? That makes sense. As a cat my hearing and sensitivity to the dark spirit of Satan are heightened. I can assure you, he is coming for us.”_

“Rumbling? Oooh…” Liz realized, removing her hands from her ears. “Reddington, look at me.” He complied, still flattened like a swiffer duster on the back seat. “Ressler just started the engine. That sound is the car. You _know_ that. You’ve ridden in cars your whole life…” she trailed off, unable to process how a man of Reddington’s age and wisdom had suddenly become unable to understand the basic functions of human life purely because of cat instinct.

Reddington’s ears perked up. _“Oh. Right. I knew that—I mean, I know that.”_

Liz raised her eyebrows. “Alright then, why don’t you sit up?”

Reddington scowled. _“Maybe I want to sit like this. Just tell Ressler to drive,”_ said the pancake on the back seat.

“He’s afraid of the truck?” Ressler asked gleefully.

Liz fixed him with a penetrating look. “Yes. Now drive.” _And keep this to yourself._

As soon as they were on the road, Liz glanced at Reddington. He had apparently decided that the truck was alright after all, and was now perched with his forepaws on the armrest of the driver’s side back seat. He stared out the window with rapt fascination, flinching every once in a while, but generally consumed with wonder.

_”Lizzie look! I can see a bunch of people from here! It would be really fun to pretend I don’t like them until they grovel at my feet. Ew, a dog. Someone really ought to set about exterminating canines of every sort. You know how I feel about animal rights, but with the added wisdom that age and cat transformation has afforded me, I can tell you with full certainty that dogs deserve no animal rights. They aren’t even animals, really. They’re like walking hot dogs. Gross, slimy, loved by the American people, entirely processed, and made of pig parts. Okay, I have to admit that metaphor got away from me there at the end, but you understand what I mean. Dogs suck big time.”_

“Alright Reddington,” Ressler said. “We need to come up with a way for you to convince everyone that you’re really…well, _you._ Do you have a plan?”

Ressler waited in silence for a few moments before glancing at Liz. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Liz responded, which wasn’t true. Reddington continued to monologue, but none of his remarks were directed at Ressler. “Hey, Reddington!” Liz called.

Reddington turned his attention from the window at once. _“Yes Lizzie?”_ He said, fixing Liz with his ice blue gaze.

“Ressler wants to know what your plan is for convincing everyone that you’ve actually been turned into a cat and that Ressler and I aren’t off our rockers.”

Reddington cocked his head to one side. _“Well, I cannot pretend that either of you are exactly_ on _your rocker to begin with, but as for this particular predicament, you’re both perfectly sane. To answer your question: I plan to write everyone a message with information only I would know. I’m assuming we’re keeping this secret between, Cooper, Samar, Aram, and the three of us?”_

“Yes,” Liz replied. There was no way she would undertake the task of attempting to convince the entire Post Office of Reddington’s catified nature. She turned to Ressler. “He says he wants to do it the same way he did it to you. You know, sharing a secret that only he would know.”

Ressler nodded. “Okay, but what are you going to do for whoever you don’t share any secrets with?” He posed. I mean that he posed a question. Ressler did not strike a pose in the driver’s seat of his massive pickup truck. He didn’t look in the rearview mirror, make a smoochy face and thrust one shoulder forward, accenting his sexiness. He definitely didn’t do that.

 _“Psh, bitch, have you met me? I have enough secrets to fill up all the extra space in that empty head of yours and then some.”_ Reddington said. Liz shot him an annoyed look.

“He says he has gas,” Liz told Ressler.

_“I most certainly did not! Lizzie, tell him what I said!”_

Ressler furrowed his brow. “Sounds like a personal problem, Reddington, but keep it to yourself. I don’t want cat farts stinking up my truck. And answer my question!”

_“I did, noodlebrain, it’s just that Lizzie’s being petty—”_

“He says he has enough secrets to go around. Speaking of which: when did you get Mako Tanida’s head?” Liz asked.

“Last season.”

…

 

“Clear the floor!” Liz shouted as she walked into the Post Office. Twenty or so workers looked up from their intense agenting to look at her. Ressler came into the Post Office too and he was like “ya, everyone get out” and everyone listened to him because he was a man. Sexists.

I just read that paragraph to my sisters and my cousin and none of them laughed. I cry.

Having done that, Ressler and Liz realized simultaneously that they hadn’t invited Cooper, Samar or Aram to a meeting, effectively clearing the enormous space and filling it with just the two of them. Liz decided to keep an eye on Reddington as Ressler fetched the other half of the task force. With a cursory glance around, Liz chose a table at the front of the room, nearest to the drawing boards. She set Reddington down on said table, and then produced a bottle of ink and a notepad from her purse. The bottle of ink had been an on-the-way purchase.

Reddington examined his reflection in the silver-topped table. It couldn’t have been very clear, but he was nevertheless enthralled by it.

_“Lizzie, there’s another cat in this table. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”_

Liz rolled her eyes. “Reddington, that’s your own reflection.”

_“He’s a fine-looking specimen, but he’s on my turf. If he wants to fight I’ll fight. I’m way good at fighting.”_

The clatter of footsteps sounded; Ressler had returned with the task force in tow. As they gathered around, Liz surveyed their expressions. Samar and Cooper looked deadly serious. Whatever Ressler had told them this meeting was about, they were clearly under the impression that it was important. Aram, however, either didn’t know or didn’t care that everyone else in the room was being tres stoic. He approached the table with Reddington atop it in delight.

“Hi there, kitty kitty!” He said happily, bending down to scratch behind Reddington’s ears. Reddington flinched at the appearance of fingers in his vision, but otherwise remained fixated on his reflection in the table top, swiveling his head this way and that.

Liz glanced at Ressler, who gestured for her to take the lead of the meeting. With a deep breath, Liz lifted her chin and looked directly at Cooper, who was studying her with a stoic look (like always. Cooper is like the king of stoicness. Stoicism. No, stoicness. Sound crackier. More cracky. No, crackier. Sounds crackier.)

“Hey guys, welcome to our meeting. Today on the agenda: Reddington is…well, he’s a cat now.” Liz held out a hand toward Reddington’s dancing head in gesture. “So, we’re all going to have to get used to that. Any questions?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Liz saw Aram remove his fingers from behind Reddington’s ears and sidle away from the cat with a cautious look. Samar raised her hand.

“Yes I have a question. Hold on, I need to look sexily into the camera.” Samar said. She posed.

The director interrupted her. “Samar, you can’t do that.”

Samar scowled. “Why not? Our viewers will appreciate it.”

Director shook his head. “We already tried that. It turns out that 68% of viewers who look directly into your eyes as you pose sexily explode. It’s kind of like what happens when you look at God without being translated.”

Samar nodded solemnly. “That makes sense,” she sighed. “It’s very hard being me. Can someone get me a glass of water?” The next second, she was surrounded by everyone on set, other cast members included, who had all endeavored to get her a glass of water because, well, she’s Samar Navabi.

The director shook his head. “This needs to stop happening. From now on, the only one allowed to get Samar water is me. K let’s get back to the story. Action.”

“What’s your question, Samar?” Liz asked.

Samar raised her head and tipped it to the side slightly, exposing her long neck. Like, really long neck. Imagine the distance between here and the moon except instead of a hunk of rock at the end, you actually have a beautiful woman’s face. The skin there was a coppery color, and her chin cast a shadow across its smooth surface, rising over the slight curve of her adams apple and flitting around her sternocleidomastoids, which were pulled taught. Ohmagawsh I have got to stop getting off track this chapter is already taking forever to write. No more funny business. Let’s write this crap and get this chapter over with.

“Yeah, my question is this: What the fuck do you mean by ‘Reddington’s a cat’? I don’t get it. I would maybe compare him to a fox, but I don’t see how that’s relevant to this taskforce.”

Liz picked Reddington up off the table. He protested for a moment until she began scratching his ears, at which point he decided being picked up was alright. “You misunderstand me,” Liz told Samar. She gently bounced Reddington in gesture. “I mean Reddington has been physically transformed into this cat that I’m holding right now. A witch did it.”

Aram furrowed his brow. “But that doesn’t fit with the mythology of the show.”

“That’s what I said.” Liz shrugged. “But that’s the way it is, and we can prove it.” She looked over her shoulder at Ressler, who had been strangely silent this entire time. At her look, he came forward.

“Uhm, yeah, Liz is telling the truth. I know because they proved it to me, and now we’re going to prove it to you.”

Liz set Reddington back on the table next to the bottle of ink and notepad. He was immediately enamored with his own reflection again, swiveling his head back and forth as he surveyed himself. Ressler rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, but to no avail. At last, Liz snapped her fingers in front of Reddington’s face.

“Reddington!” She shouted.

Reddington jerked to a standing position. _“Yes Lizzie? What is it? You know I always have time for you, but do make this quick. I think the impostor in the table is attempting to engage me in an honorable battle for this territory.”_

Liz bent down to look directly in Reddington’s eyes. He licked her nose.

“Reddington. That is your reflection in the table. We don’t have time for this.”

_“But Lizzie—”_

“Look, just prove to everyone that you are who you say you are, and then you can go back to engaging your reflection in an honorable battle for this territory, okay?”

Reddington cocked his head. _“Very well then, Lizzie. To business. Who’s up first?”_

Liz stepped over to the ink bottle and unscrewed the cap. Unless I said she did that earlier, in which case she didn’t do that.

“Come here, Samar.” Liz said.

Samar waltzed across the floor. No, waltzed is the wrong word. She glided. Like on rollerskates, but rollerskates made of gold and dreams.

As she reached the table, Liz stepped back. “Reddington is going to write you a message that only he would know, proving that he is indeed Reddington.”

Reddington dipped a claw in the ink and began scratching away at the notepad. It was slow going, considering that the author has worked with a quill and ink before and knows how highly improbable it is that this method of writing would actually work, but we’ll pretend that it totally would. The taskforce watched with baited breath as Reddington’s message began to take shape.

_Last February, the Baku in Azerbaijan. You were wearing nothing but—_

Samar slammed her hand on the notepad sheet, causing Reddington to yowl in fright and spring backward. She tore off the paper in one and ripped it up, casting it on the floor and grinding it beneath the heel of her super high heeled knee-length boots. Straightening up as though nothing had happened, rolling her poised shoulders back into place, she turned to Liz.

“I believe you,” she said simply.

Ressler took a hurried step toward Samar and began to speak. “I’m sorry, but I really think we need Reddington to finish the message. I, for one, am not convinced that we had you fully converted and perhaps seeing the whole message would—”

“Down, Ressler.” Liz ordered. The man’s head drooped and he stepped back, chided.

“You next, Aram,” Liz called. Samar slid away from the table on her rollerskates of gold and dreams and Aram leaned an elbow on the table, to better see the message that Reddington scratched out.

_I was going to shoot you that one time when you stole all that money for me but then I didn’t._

Aram swallowed. “Yeah, it’s him.” He admitted.

Liz looked toward Cooper, who had a very uncomfortable look on his face. Before she could summon him forward, he held up his hands.

“It’s okay, I believe you,” he said.

Liz and Ressler shared a confused glance.

 _“Finally, someone in their right mind!”_ Reddington grumbled.

“But sir…” Ressler protested.

“No, that’s fine…I, uh, believe you.” He stepped toward the table, holding out his hand to Reddington. “Welcome back to the task force, Reddington.”

Reddington examined the large hand extended in his direction, then batted it away. _“I don’t shake hands with anyone less interesting than myself.”_

Liz sighed. “He says he doesn’t shake hands with anyone less interesting than himself.” She told Cooper.

Cooper nodded. “Sounds like him. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to be about. Very power. Much FBI. So regal. Wow.” He walked away quickly, his shoulders tense.

Liz rounded on Reddington. “What was that about?” She asked.

Reddington purred contentedly. _“He doesn’t want me to share his secret.”_

Oh my God the chapter is finally over praise the Lord.

_“Aaah, Lizzie, if you don’t mind, I have my so-called ‘reflection’ to engage in an honorable battle for this territory. Look at him. Look at his dumb face. I’m going to scratch the eyes out of his dumb face. That’ll show him who’s territory this is. OOOOh, you think you’re a big man, do you? I’ll show you. Hey! No trying to sneak around me. This is an honorable battle you fartface.”_


End file.
